


Thick and Thin

by TheNobodyofaSOLDIER



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Horror, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, POV First Person, Romance, Smut, noir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 14:43:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19022035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNobodyofaSOLDIER/pseuds/TheNobodyofaSOLDIER
Summary: A collection of scenarios and one-shots centering around Leon. S Kennedy!





	1. Scars

[Leon x Injured!Police!Reader]

 

You reeled your hand back as it made contact with the sizzling pan. A horrid sensation seeped into the tender skin, first sharp, then hot mixed oddly with a freezing pain. Swallowing hard, you clutched the heel of your hand, biting your lip and observing the damage; nothing much more than a pink mark distorting your palm. What did it matter? 

 

After all, it was just another scar. 

 

It had been a week now since you first abandoned your two month stay at the hospital. Oh, how good it felt to be in the warmth of your apartment rather than that freezing room, to escape those awful beeps and whirrings from the machines you were attached to. But, you never predicted the level of difficulty getting back into your normal routine.

 

How could you after what you suffered through?

 

You used to think a promotion as a policewoman for the Raccoon City Police Department was the greatest opportunity for you, the best thing that could possibly happen to you. Working alongside your boyfriend of one month, Leon Scott Kennedy, was the icing on the cake. But, who could have predicated the madness that took place the fall of 1998? Who knew of the horror germinating behind the walls of Umbrella? How could someone mentally prepare for terrors only located in fiction brutally invading the land of reality? 

 

You never couldn’t imagine it. Nights still riddled with nightmares of the city, contaminated with the walking dead, their bone chilling moans, the putrid stench of rotting flesh peeling away from their bones, screams of the victims falling prey to these monsters. 

 

You didn't doubt your abilities as a fighter, your skills at hand to hand combat and firearms, as a soldier of justice. You knew how to think and move when criminals lashed out. Though you tried your best to escape the infected city unscathed, the damage inflicted on your body inflamed your broken nerves to this day.

 

As you tended to the wound, a smoky aroma filled your nostrils. Slowly, but surely, it escalated to a burning stench. Your heart nearly jumped through your ribs when you bolted back to the stove, practically shoving the pan off. But, it was too late. Much to your dismay, the meat had been charred black, dry, wrinkled, inedible. 

And Leon, your boyfriend would be home any minute...

With a desperate wail, you sunk into the chair of the dining table. Your throat painfully constricted, and your eyes burned with salty droplets. Three months today, you and Leon started a relationship, and in the short amount of time, you both went through hell and back again....then through hell once more. But, he wasn't just your boyfriend. No, he was your hero, your savior both in the battlefield of the undead to the torture you endured in the hospital. Though you guessed he would leave you there with nothing left to fight for, he knelt at your side, tightening his grip around your hand, determined to take you out of that bed.

You owed him your life. You owned him your once wavering sanity. You owed him what was left of your crumpled body - and you couldn't even cook him one damn meal.

The front door clicked, and footsteps resounded in the little apartment. Widening your eyes, you scrambled to the counter, trying to clear it of every bit of evidence in regards to you failure. But, the place was so small. Before he could even call your name, announcing his arrival, Leon happened upon you, caught you in the act.

One hand in his jacket pocket, the other carrying a back of plastic sacks, he raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing the scene. You felt like a naughty child, discovered stealing cookies.

"What is this, [Name]?" he stated rather than asked. The searing scent hung so prominently, it was obvious what you had been doing. 

Sucking in your bottom lip, you lowered your head and covered the singed flesh at the top of your hand.

"W-Well," your voice broke, forcing you to swallow. "I've been back on my feet over a week now, and today marks three months for us," you mentally slapped yourself but showed it with a light tug at your hair. "I know it seems stupid, but with everything we've been through, I thought we needed to celebrate in some way..."

You heard the rustling of the sacks as they were placed on the table and the thud of his boots draw nearer. Suddenly, you felt his warm presence encircle you, his musky but clean scent. He immediately snatched the hand you concealed. With a light gasp, you opened your mouth to protest but he observed it carefully, occasionally flipping it over. His face remained blank. Your insides twisted with nerves.

Then, his light eyes softened around his coffee colored locks, and a low laugh reverberated in his chest. "You moron," again, triggering a yelp from you, he snatched you by the waist, pressing up against you. "All that shit just for me?"

It didn't matter how often he touched, kissed or held you-it took your breath away and nearly stopped your heart every time.

"Well, yeah," you said, lowering your heated face. 

Taking your chin in his hand, he brought your dry lips close for a chaste, gentle kiss. No, it wasn't the most passionate or romantic, but it was enough for you. It still shot a chill up your spine. Each time he brushed his lips over a scar on your face, the sensation repeated, intensifying at each touch. Tracing butterfly kisses down your neck, you rested your head against his shoulder, savoring every tiny detail; the tickling of his hair follicles, each hitched breath warming the marred skin, the careful control he held to better express these terms of affection. You would always find a safe haven here with him. He would always be here to hold you and heal your scars.

Still holding you close, Leon whispered against the shell of your ear,

"So, I'm guessing you didn't have some sort of back-up plan for dinner?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, of course not."

He suddenly flicked the back of your head, snickering. "Moron."

"H-hey-!"

"You never were the best cook," he gestured to the bag. "So, I got Chinese food from your favorite joint."

You made a pull for the edible treasure awaiting you. "What-!?"

Preventing you to escape, Leon's grasp around you tightened. "Hey, hey, now, just a second," he rested a cheek atop your head. "I'm likin' this."

Your heart refused to cease its fluttering. With a quiet sigh, you returned to your snug place in his arms, fitting together perfectly. 

"Alright," you said. "Just let me know when you get tired of this."

As you expected, he laughed in reply as did you. He told you a million and one times what he thought about keeping you close like this.

He'd never tire of it.


	2. Hang On

[Leon x Agent!Reader]

“I can’t, Leon.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t. It hurts.”

“Come on. You were able to make is this far.”

A step, and another wave of pain completely dominates your tattered leg. Your strength dwindling fast, you lean against Leon’s arm as he finally locates a small, corner of refuge in the midst of the burning rubble and debris. Rotting, charred flesh violate your nostrils and churn your stomach, but it is to be expected when fighting against the living dead. You breathe when a cool breeze carrying a mist of frozen needles sting your face. The moan of the wind rush through the remains of the island.

Another goal is accomplished.

Yet, the mission is not yet complete, until the agents are home safe.

Gingerly, Leon rests you against a stable slab of wall, stilling remaining. The brick chafes and irritates, but to your body, heavier than lead, drained of all energy, it feels like heaven. You feel him pull out your wounded cloud, and in the midst of your clouded eyes, you see him tighten his jacket around the bloodied area. You wince at the constant throb and sting.

“There,” he murmurs. “That should hold it for a while. Ah, fuck, what a time to run out of first aid.”

You roll your eyes. “Go figure,” and again, you wince. Your throat is raw from over usage, and the swelling sends a lingering burn up your esophagus.

“Don’t say anything,” he murmurs, resting his hand on the top of your head. “Preserve as much energy as you can.”

“It’s just my throat,” you say, gazing back into those clear eyes of his. Usually so calm and collected, his brows are wrinkled, furrowed, and his lips etch into a tight frown.

Releasing a quick breath, you place a palm to his cheek.

Eyes closed, he breathes, savoring the warmth of your skin against his.

“Hang on,” he mutters and then presses a kiss into your hand.

Tears well in your eyes. Your heart swells in your chest. In a matter of seconds, memories of your early days as an agent of the D.S.O flash through your mind; your days of training, those awkward moments where everyone’s names slipped your mind, your first conversation with Leon, when you slammed him against the wall after he had the audacity to sneak up on you from behind.

You never would have known how important he would become in your life.

A comrade, a teacher, a friend, a partner, he guides you through thick and then, teaching you his ways, protecting you, watching you grow on your own as an agent and a fighter.

His attachment to you is all too apparent for him to ignore, a dangerous occurrence for your line of work.

The bad of his thumb traces over the soft skin beneath your eyes, deep and purple from deprivation, tears brushed away. Every wince, every light whimper is a stab to his heart. He presses his palm into the mangled flesh at your waist, his breath hitching at hot fluid against his nerves. The wound delves far too deep into your broken body to be simply bandaged. The tanned fabric of his jacket stains with your blood. The more you lose, the more the color drains from your face, the life, the sparkle. Panic bubbles in his stomach, and his lungs constrict.

Yet, he grips your hand, and calmly states, no louder than a breath,

“Hang on.”

“Leon,” you whimper, urging him a little closer. “I’m scared.”

His teeth sink into his bottom lip.

“They’re coming for us,” he assures you. “Hang in there.”

“I can’t, Leon. I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can. You’ve powered through worse.”

Squeezing your eyes together, tears stream down your filthied face. Yet, it pains you just to speak.

Steadily, it worsens, courses through you, until you use every strength you possess just to breathe.

Yet, his quiet mantra continues.

“Hang on,” he says, now pressing you against him.

The beating against the atmosphere rumbles over the demolished city. Blades of the helicopters cuts through the air as it hovers over the remains. A spotlight darts through the darkness in attempts to locate survivors.

Leon’s heart pounds in his chest, and a bedraggled hope rises.

“See?” he mutters into your hair. “They’re coming! I told you!”

“L-Leon...,” your voice cracks as your cheek presses into his shoulder. “I-....

“No, don’t say it,” cradling you by the back, he lifts you from the filthied ground. “We’re almost there.”

“Leon,” your eyes flutter as you struggle to keep them open, to stay connected to this world.

He runs as if everything depends on it. He sees the helicopter grow closer and closer.

“Come on,” he says again.

“Leon, I...”

“Don’t say it.”

“Leon...”

He feels you fall limp in his arms, and your heart barely fluttering against his chest.

And as the helicopter lands, and you are pulled from his arms, he whispers, once more, fingers still latched onto yours,

“Hang on...”


	3. Lady In Black

[Leon’s P.O.V - [Leon x Agent!Reader] Film Noir!AU

 

Another day at work, wrapping up at 2:45 AM, but with my line of work, that was all too familiar...

Being an agent had always been so romanticized in story books and all those black and white pictures you catch in the movies nowadays, but they always forgot to mention just how...grueling and demanding the job was; long hours spent with paperwork, wandering foggy streets and musty alleyways with little to nothing to show for it, not to mention the moaning and groaning from the higher ups if something happened to awry. In truth, it was a job, just like any other. I just happened to be really good at a particular kind of work.

But, frankly, no matter how sleep deprived I got, I always loved these rare, quiet moments to myself.

Soft, jazz music filled the clouded atmosphere of the bar, and the stench of used cigars smashed into their trays was enough to make one gag. Except for a few, pathetic low lives passed out on their tables, their limbs dangling like led, I had the entire facility to myself.

Just me, the bartender and constant refills of my favorite scotch, of which I downed as if it was going out of style...

Then, I saw her.

It felt like something out of the movies, what with the smoky lighting, the sexy music. I remembered her dressed in black, one of those shimmery silk dresses, showing just a little but of her knee.

Just enough to attract attention but still the epitome of classy.

A cigarette rested lazily between her fingers, and despite her otherwise clean appearance, I noticed a little rubble in her messy bun, bruises embedded in her otherwise silky skin.

This girl was a little bit dangerous, and her allure was too strong for me to ignore.

Sometimes, for a man, it took more courage to talk to a beautiful woman than to face a multitude of danger.

And even I felt a little anxious talk to her. I quickly grabbed my drink and sauntered over to where you sat. I immediately spotted the look of mischief in her eyes as she glanced over in my direction. I felt my stomach drop, and a surge of electricity jolt through me.

All from just a look?

As I approached her, I noted a small, black pistol resting under the hem of her skirt, pressed against that luscious thigh she so cleverly displayed.

You little minx, I thought to myself.

Just as I lowered myself to sit, she pulled the nearest chair to her as close as possible.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a sultry voice, nonchalantly releasing a long strand of smoke from her lips.

“Nothing, but to offer a drink of your choice,” I replied with a tip of the hat.

As if reading my mind, she offered the seat, and I slid in. The delicate aroma of her perfume radiated off her, adding to that deadly charm. The bartender came by once more, glass and towel in hand, taking our orders and returning promptly as if he had never left in the first place. We exchanged idle word, meaningless information about ourselves, just to brush away any possible tension lingering in the atmosphere. Every now and then, she urged herself a little closer, allowing me to take in more details; the highlights in her hair from the smoky lighting, the slow rhythm of her breathing. She was the embodiment of a sensual confidence, the kind civilians crave all witnessed on the silver screen.

However, I needed to keep my guard up. Too many uncertainties lingered about her: who was she working for? Was she a friend or foe? And what was her intention with approaching me?

Yet, despite the wariness, I couldn’t deny the desire bubbling for this elegant creature. It was bad for me, and I knew it, but sometimes, the forbidden proved to be all the more appealing.

“So,” she began, tracing the rim of her glass with the tip of her finger. “What brings you to this end of the city at this time of night?”

I chuckled, swirling the golden liquid in the crystal glass.

“I think, darling,” I replied. “you can guess that information is confidential.”

Ruby lips curved into a devilish smirk, she leaned in his close as possible without making actual contact, but I could feel the plains of my skin set ablaze like flaming thorns.

Damn, she was good.

“Yes, I could,” she hummed, resting a hand on my shoulder. “Agent Kennedy.”

“Ah, so you do know who I am,” I said and gulped down the remaining Scotch. “Yet, I haven’t seen you around before.”

“I prefer to remain in the shadows,” leaning in closer, her lips made contact with the skin below my ear.

Damn, it proved difficult just to sit still.

“Sorry to say, but I prefer to stay in the shadows,” she whispered, feathering kisses down my neck in between her words. “Just a precaution.”

“Hm.”

Mindlessly, a finger found its way to the line of her neck, caressing the silky skin there. It was difficult not to smirk at her sucking in her bottom lip.

“It’s not quite fair,” I murmured, pulling her a little closer by the nape of her neck. Her breath hitched. “that you know me but I don’t know who you are.”

After releasing a shaky breath, she ghosted her lips over mine. Her eyes smoldered beneath painted lashes.

“A little exciting, wouldn’t you say?”

Before I even fathomed what had happened, she took my mouth into a heated kiss. Velvety, rich, her lips were like a wine, too intoxicating to take more than one sip of, but once you started, you couldn’t stop.

And that was exactly how I felt.

Our mouths moved rhythmically. Fire coursed through our veins, and for a brief moment, everything seemed absolutely perfect...

Until I opened one eye and noticed those lithe fingers creep to the gun beneath her dress.

Immediately, adrenaline as cold as ice shot through my body, and I snatched her wrist. Eyes widened and a light gasp escaping her lips, she merely gawked.

“Clever,” I muttered with a smirk. “You know, as pretty as you are, you’re obviously the type that attracts trouble,” with her still caught, I removed the weapon against her thigh, chuckling at the light pink tinting her cheeks. “You wear it better than that dress of yours.”

Upon clearing her throat, she returned with a sinful smile and a cock of her brow,

“Ah, you’re a lot smarter than expected. Such a shame.”

Suddenly, she jolted from my grasp, knocking over her chair in the process. Despite such confining attire, her attacks were quick and sharp: a kick, a punch, a swipe of her palm. She utilized her surroundings in attempt to bring me down.

Too bad I was little more prepared for these very situations.

After this little game, I finally had enough. Again, I took her by surprise with a snatch of her arm, and she was caught in a headlock, unable to move, unable to speak.

“Not bad,” I said against the shell of her ear. “You still need a little work though. But, you have potential.”

She simply scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Don’t patronize me,” she managed to wheeze out.

I chuckled before pressing the cold metal of the tip of my gun to her cheek.

“Now,” my voice dropped to know more than a whisper. “how about you tell me who you’re working for?”

With a low grunt, she delved her elbow into me, using the pressure to shove me away and worm her way from my grasp.

And damn, it was enough to throw me off balance...

She may not have been as strong, but she was quick By the time I regained my composure, she disappeared into the shadows, the only sounds remaining being the whirling of the fan and the clinking of glasses being washed at the back of the bar.

Despite the still lingering in the air, a part of me was relieved she escaped. I kind of liked her and didn’t want to have to kill her.

I ruffled the top of my hair then swiped my hat, fallen to the floor.

“Hey, bartender,” I called and slid into my seat. “Another Scotch. Make it double.”

“Right away, sir!”

I rapped my fingers against the bar, still inhaling the scent of her perfume and cigarette.

That was one of the few moments that made the job worth while, this bit of excitement, pleasurable danger. Characters like this lady in black kept me on me toes, kept this job from ever boring me.

Though I couldn’t tell when or how, but I knew that some day, the lady in black, and I would cross paths once more.

And I still anxiously await that day.


	4. Sigh of Relief

[Leon x Nurse!Reader]

"Hush," he says, pulling your body flush against his. 

Your breath hitches in your throat, and your heart pounds wildly in your chest, ready to crack through its skeletal cage and flee in utter terror, blood and vessels trailing behind it. Your eyes fix uncomfortably on the policeman's, searching for any sign of reassurance. His lips press together to stifle his breathing, his eyes strangely composed yet still wide and alert. As your fist curls in his jacket, you feel his pulse pounding through the fabric of his uniform and the leather of his bulletproof vest. 

Then, you hear them...once a distant echo, now steadily drawing nearer...

_Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp._

The tiny locker in which you and your protector crammed into rattles helplessly at the mercy of this gargantuan, shadowy monster. 

_Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp._

"F-Fuck...," you wheeze, burying your face into Leon's neck.

Everything inside you runs cold, and your clouded ears start to ring the faster your heart races. His gloved hand rests against the back of your neck, partially for comfort, partially anticipating any cries you involuntary could release. But, your throat restricted so violently, so painfully, you would not have been able to speak even if you wanted to. 

_How did it come to this...?_ your mind plays this thought over and over, like a scratched record. 

While you once believed in your good fortune, being able to escape the hospital filled to the brim with these infected creatures, you almost wish you too could have fallen into the clutches of death. At least, you would not be tiptoeing on a minefield, only surviving, no longer living, wondering which misstep would finally detonate and end your life altogether.

You frequently revisit that hour, that dreaded hour, when one of your patients gazed at you mindlessly, no longer able to respond, mouth agape, ready to sink its teeth into your neck, eyes sunken and swollen, red and leaking puss. 

Thank God, you still clenched that long, 18 gauge syringe to jab promptly through its ear...

Most importantly, thank God, you listened to your instincts...because most of the nurses on your floor failed to...and now they too wander the burning streets of Raccoon City, moaning, shuffling clumsily in search of their next victim...

And that next victim could very easily be you...

_Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp...._

After what seemed like eternity, the ponderous footsteps of the tyrant gradually fade behind the walls, as he continues his endless search of his prey. Finally, you breathe, or more choke out a weak breath. Leon exhales exasperatedly, and rests the back of his head against the wall of the locker. You roll your tongue in your dry, crusted mouth and swallow hard.

"That," your voice creaks. "That was a good call, Leon."

Somehow, he manages a feeble chuckle.

"Just doing my job," he replies as he pushes open the squeaking door. "Or, you know, what would have been my job."

"Ahaha...right..."

First, you stumble out into the dimly lit office, and he after you, brushing bits of debris from his clothes. You glance about at the room. Occasionally, a lightning strike brightens it up just enough for you to catch minor details: papers floating at the mercy of the fan, broken lights buzzing and flickering, hanging by one or two chords, boards with documents pinned to their frames, pens, pencils, miscellaneous tools scattered across tables and empty desks, fingerprints of blood streaked across the windows. It resembles the same emptiness as a building long since abandoned.

Nothing but phantoms linger here now...

You perfectly visualize the scene of policemen entangling themselves with the ravenous undead, grasping for their shoulders, digging their rotted teeth into distended jugulars.

_Just like the hospital..._

You cringe and shake your head in hopes to physically shake the thought away. When you glance at Leon, a hint of sadness glazes over his eyes. 

_Today was supposed to be his first day._

These were not just average folks, but soon-to-be coworkers, comrades in arms.

And, what did he return to? 

_A living hell..._

Just from the little time you experienced with him, you easily see how perfect he would have been in this profession. He cares so much for the well-being of others, almost to a fault. His sharp intuition and instincts propel him through this nightmare, enabling him to survive. He is built for this job, the absolute pinnacle of the perfect policeman.

If only he had the chance to prove himself...

But, he would make it. There is no way he couldn't.

You, on the other hand....well, finding Leon certainly at least increases the chances. 

"Shit," he suddenly hisses, derailing your train of thought. 

When you glance over at him, he sinks his teeth into his lower lip and clutches at his forearm. Trickles of blood seep through the tight spaces between his fingers.

Immediately, your instincts take over. In a borderline, robotic fashion, you grab his arm and apply pressure to the open wound. Before he can speak, you pull him down to a sitting position on the floor, which allowed you to prop his arm on your knee. Luckily, you find two small rolls of bandages and packs of antiseptic towelettes tucked away in your scrubs, and you quickly tear open packets to clean off his injury. He winces only for a moment at the sterile solution coming into contact but he relaxes shortly after. 

A quick grunt from him breaks you from your hyper-focused state just enough for you to examine his face. He relaxes as soon as he sees you staring at him and manages to force a smile, brows still wrinkled, indicating pain. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper. loosening your grip on him.

"Don't worry," he breathes. "I expected it to sting a little." 

"Just think of all the bacteria dying," you snicker. "That makes the sting a little more satisfying."

He quirks a brow and smirks. "Hm, interesting way of putting it."

"Well, I always have to dumb down complicated medical processes and procedures," you explain. "I do it without realizing it sometimes."

"Guess that makes you a pretty good nurse, huh?"

As he smiles at you, you notice your heart fluttering lightly in your chest - and you couldn't blame fear this time around.

"I certainly try to be," you muffle, lowering your head.

Biting your lip, you continue with the administration of first aid spray and wrap his wound tightly with the bandage. Finally, he releases a sigh of relief. 

"Thanks a lot," he says, resting his head against the wall. "I was out of first aid."

You shrug. "Nice to know I'm useful for something," you say, head still lowered and picking at a few of the scabs on the back of your hands.

Suddenly, you see gloved hands encircled your scratched up, bleeding fingers. Taking one of your sterile cloths, he softly dabs the open tears in your skin. You inhale sharply as the stinging branches throughout your fingers, but he continues until every spot has been cleansed.

Despite the pain, you manage a laugh. 

"Got your revenge, huh?" you stick your tongue out at him.

Leon grins. "It's the least I could do. Can't have those pretty hands scarring up." 

"Oh, aren't you the charmer?" 

"Aw, you think so?"

"Either that, or I have really bad taste."

"Oof, that stung more than the antiseptic!"

You straighten your back a little. "I'm trained in dealing with morons."

His smile turns into a grin, and for the first time, he genuinely laughs, the corners of his eyes wrinkling and everything.

Your heart bounds in your chest. Despite your inner berating for feeling such things in such a precarious situation, you admit its far preferable to the panic you experienced earlier.

Deliberately, he cradles the palm of your hand in his own and wraps it in the last bit of bandage you carried. The stinging you once felt from the chilled tears on your cheeks slowly fill with warmth the longer you gaze into his face. Even though the murky lighting of the office barely illuminates your surroundings, you notice his stormy eyes flickering with each flash of lightning. The shadows accentuate his angular features, his cheekbones, his jawline. 

At the very least, your rescuer is easy on the eyes...certainly makes up for...for...

Immediately, you shudder. 

There goes the pleasant feelings...You couldn't push them away even when you want to...

"Yeah, me too."

His statement completely catches you off guard. YouR mouth hangs open to speak, but nothing even remotely intelligent comes out.

Instead, his eyes soften, and a hand cups your cheek.

The touch is so soft, so inviting...

_so comforting._

Just to feel the warmth of human touch when you had been jerked and pulled at by starving undead moments before.

His thumb drags across the sunken skin under your eyes. Without you realizing it, tears trickle down your face again. You squeeze your lips together in attempts to stifle a sob.

"I'm sorry, Leon, I just..."

"It's okay," he says, gently. "You did everything you could."

"But, the other nurses-! I mean, they were just...I mean, I saw them when their-!" Your mind moves far too quickly for your mouth to even catch up. Instead, you give up on speaking and just groan.

Leon then takes you by both shoulders, his expression still welcomING but brows a little more knit.

"I understand." he assures. "I thought about that myself when I got here. But, we don't have time to grieve and fall apart right now."

"I know, I know," you wipe your eyes on your sleeve. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, no need to apologize," he finally rises from his seat and pulls you by the arm. "I can't imagine having a rough day at the hospital only to have it get even worse because of _this._ "

You scoff. "Right? Guess we're even in that department."

Leon takes a moment to rummage through his bag and hand you a pistol and small box of ammo.

"Careful," he says. "Those guys are bullet sponges, you know."

You load according to the gun's capacity. After storing the leftovers in your pocket, you grip the gun tightly and nod.

"Hey," you say with a smirk. "Bet you five bucks you can't shoot off that giant bastard's fedora."

Leon cocks his shotgun and raises his eyebrow.

"You got yourself a deal."


End file.
